#SHUT UP JESSICA

[clea-dessendre]

trying to finish up this run of rogue trader to have a chance to play something else (avowed...? maybe?) and not get burnt out before the next dlc comes out

but then I also just spend hours of precious play time babbling to myself in my drafts about various little ammabel things

[gloriouslokius]

Meet my new pup Charlie! I adopted her a week ago and I am so in love.

[ronsenthal]

i'm too attached to my icon to change it but i'm also kinda tired of it

[ajthemagpie]

Friend asked me who Jessica Law was this morning (I bought this upon myself) and I had to explain that she's the best not-person to ever not-person and plays the best not-people to ever not-people and then he asked me what she was if not a person and I said How Could She Be Anything, Silly! She's Plastic! She Doesn't Even Have A Voice Box, She Had To Borrow This One!

[arguablysomaya]

[icepandawarrior]

"Doesn't matter it still looks cool"

"Everyone that's hating right now clearly doesn't read comics"

"Why is everyone hating?"

"So we can't enjoy something new?"

(and these aren't all the RDJ fans had to say either)

But when it was them....

Y'all had so much to say... suddenly the MCU went "woke"

[anghraine]

I got my doctor's appointment and prescriptions (the doctor decided the best solution to my asthma misery was to nuke it from orbit with steroids lmao) and also wrote some more of the femslash K/S AU for WIP Wednesday!

This section is set quite late in the fic, a few months after the five-year mission, and more than usually spoilery (though no great surprises for K/S fans), so the excerpt and more detailed context are below the cut. However, this phase of the story is essentially a follow-up to the cut lines from "The City on the Edge of Forever" about Kirk recuperating on Vulcan.

Basically, after the string of horrors Jess goes through in S3 and after, S'paak invites her to take her mandatory leave on Vulcan and, now on better terms with her parents, asks Sarek and Amanda to host them. She explains her logic: "leave" for a Starfleet officer as extremely competent and dedicated as Captain Kirk is likely to be little more than nominal if she's easily accessible on Earth (especially if she's in San Francisco itself), and thus Earth seems ill-suited to recuperation from the strains of the mission, all the more as Captain Kirk is prone to handling the emotional excesses of those around her. On the other hand, if their superiors have to go through Sarek to trouble Kirk, disruptions seem less probable.

Amanda is like, "oh sweetie we'd love to have you and your best friend with us for—several months, you said? That would be wonderful! It's been so long! And yes, I'm sure you'll both find it so much more restful at home than back on Earth. And your father does owe Captain Kirk his life...what's her favorite food?" and Sarek's like "no intelligent being owes their life to another and Kirk did no more than her duty, but S'paak's rationales are sound, and the captain has a reputation for honor and reason; if her temperament inclines her to find greater peace and sanctuary in Shi'Kahr than San Francisco, logic suggests she will make a suitable guest."

And a couple months into the recuperation on Vulcan with the silver birds etc, this happens:

-

Throughout the nearly forty years of her daughter’s life, Amanda had almost never heard S’paak raise her voice. She had been a quiet baby, and took readily to Vulcan disciplines in early childhood. And neither Amanda nor Sarek had witnessed her first pon farr three years earlier.

So when Amanda passed Sarek’s study, where she knew he and S’paak were meeting with several elders for their own purposes, she started violently enough to just about dislodge her hair pins when she heard S’paak shouting.

“No! I do not accept—I won’t let you take—”

Regaining some semblance of composure, Amanda hesitated outside the door, catching the sounds of what sounded unmistakably like a physical struggle. The others within the study didn’t cry out, didn’t say anything audible enough to reach Amanda’s ears, but she would not expect them to; despite S’paak’s youth and strength, Amanda couldn’t imagine her capable of overpowering four other Vulcans. But she also couldn’t imagine what would have angered S’paak to such a degree that she would lose all command of herself in such company. It must be a misunderstanding, somehow.

Amanda certainly had not been invited to whatever Vulcan conclave was occurring within the study, nor received any explanation of its purpose. In general, she preferred not to disrupt Vulcan matters or to interfere in Sarek’s and S’paak’s relationship, however strong or disastrously estranged it might be at any given time. But after a few seconds’ consideration, she decided that she couldn’t leave S’paak there, alone with Sarek and the elders and openly upset, without knowing what could have possibly caused it. 

She reached a hand towards the door—but before she could push it forwards, Sarek himself opened it from the other side, his figure blocking Amanda’s attempts to see S’paak. He closed the door behind him before she could peer around him. His face showed no more emotion than usual, but Amanda thought she detected lines of physical weariness.

“Sarek, what’s wrong?” she demanded. “Is S’paak—”

“Plak tow,” he said succinctly, glancing down the hall, as if searching for some change to its usual state. Nothing had changed, not outside the study, not even the placement of the ancient stone vases.

Amanda’s eyes widened. “Plak tow? But pon farr is only every seven years, isn’t it? It’s only been three—”

He just looked at her.

“I thought there’d be more time,” Amanda said, flushing. “Time enough to arrange a different betrothal, at the least. She’ll still die without a bond mate?”

Her voice trembled, but she didn’t cry, which she supposed was an achievement of sorts. Forty years on Vulcan at war with every instinct in her red-blooded veins.

“Yes,” he said. “She was already showing traces of the irrationality that mark the early plak tow, and we had hoped that assuring her of an arrangement to save her life would calm her. The opposite occurred. She turned angry and violent.”

“At the idea of being bonded again?” Amanda said, puzzled. “But she has to!”

“Indeed,” he said, his voice even more neutral than usual. He glanced around again. “Where is Captain Kirk?”

“What?” She could hear S’paak’s voice rise sharply again, though not the words. “What does that—is S’paak safe?”

Sarek raised an eyebrow, looking particularly intractable. He’d always had a remarkable ability to convey an impression of fraying patience without enduring the shame of actually losing his composure. Amanda sighed and relented.

“I’d imagine Jessica is in her room,” she said. “We talked a few hours ago. She’d had a bad migraine and I gave her some human medication for it so she could try to get some sleep. Should I keep her away when she wakes up? She might make the situation more difficult—she cares for S’paak, of course, but…”

Sarek, without saying anything or moving more than a few facial muscles, seemed satisfied.

“No,” he said. “Amanda, go wake her now and bring her here to us. I must remain with Elder Stavak to ensure appropriate arrangements are made.”

Amanda blinked.

“Kirk is the person most familiar with S’paak, and thus more likely to successfully communicate with her in her current state,” he added, which was more explanation than she had expected, if still rather puzzling. After an almost absent-minded ozh’esta, he turned back to the study, then glanced over his shoulder. “Hurry, but be discreet. S’paak may not be capable of shame in this moment, but she will register it later.”

[marvelfilth]

AKA Shut up and listen

Pairing: Jessica Jones x f!reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, self-deprication

Summary: you love Jess, Jess doesn't get why

Masterlist

"So... This is it?" you mumble, your gaze pinned to the roach on the wall to your left.

You really shouldn't be disappointed - you heard enough of Jess' grumbling whenever she came back from a hideout with too many compromising pictures on her camera and too much alcohol on her breath.

So, yeah, it's all your fault, since it was you who begged her to take you with her, just to get a taste of that PI life.

"Yes." She opens the window, letting some fresh air flow into the tiny motel room.

"Cool," you sigh and search the room for a safe place to sit. Unfortunately, the entire place looks like a biohazard, so you have no choice, but to settle on the edge of the single bed.

Your hesitation doesn't escape Jess' watchful eye. "You realize you'll have to sleep here, right?" Jessica drawls. She's sitting on the windowsill, her flask clutched between her fingertips. She raises her eyebrows at your silence and you shake your head, feeling hot all of a sudden. Lately, it's been happening too often - her looking at you far longer than a friend should, and you flushing under her heavy gaze.

"You said it won't take long," you mumble, turning away to hide your burning cheeks with your hair.

"It won't. Twenty hours top." She shrugs, taking off her leather jacket to reveal her toned arms, your eyes zeroing in on the muscles hidden under her soft skin.

"Great," you sigh.

The roach on the wall moves closer to you and you have to fight the urge to stamp it down with your shoe.

It probably has a family somewhere.

"You don't have to stay. I can call Trish, she'll pick you up. She can take you somewhere fancy."

Your eyes roll at the obvious attempt at getting rid of you. You know she likes you enough to tolerate you for at least a day, but you also know she prefers to work alone. Even Trish never gets to tag along.

"You know I like you more."

“Really?” She husks sarcastically around the neck of her flask.

“Yes.”

Another roach crawls from under the bed, making you squeak and jump off it. Jessica rolls her eyes, gesturing around you. “This. This is me.”

You blink. Then blink again. “A roach?”

She hums, turning to look outside and taking another swing from her flask. “Yep. A roach, dirty motel, cheap booze - all me. Doesn't seem like your thing.”

You huff, crossing your arms, your shoulders suddenly tense. “Luckily for me, you're more than cheap booze, and shitty motels, and roaches. So yeah, you're my thing.”

She tilts her head, her dark eyes brimming with exhaustion from countless sleepless nights spent chasing leads, but there's a flicker of something, something important. It's gone faster than you can place it, and she turns back to the window, lifting her camera, and covering her face from your scrutiny.

“Get us some food, yeah?” She whispers, pretending to focus on the streets below.

You let out a frustrated huff, but nod nonetheless, leaving in search of something edible.

You come back a little over half an hour later, a paper bag full of takeout clutched tightly against your chest, your heart still racing after a ride with a sketchy man on a sketchy elevator.

Jessica startles you with a question.

“You okay?”

Her body is halfway out of the window, facing the building across the street, but her eyes are pinned to you. The flask lies empty on the windowsill.

“Peachy,” you mumble, pushing a container into her hand. “Eat it all or no booze for two days.”

She frowns, eyeing you warily. “Don't bullshit me.”

You smile, humming, and nudge Jess to make space for you on the windowsill. You dig into the food, almost moaning at the rich flavor, and note with pride that Jessica seems to enjoy it too.

“Not bad,” she says around a forkful. “Not as good as your famous lasagna-”

You shove her before she can finish her thought.

“Jess!”

Her brow arches in question, and she keeps a serious expression for all three seconds before the corners of her mouth jump up in a fleeting smile. “What? I liked it.”

You groan, pushing the food around. She'll never let you forget it. And to think that you were just being a caring friend, spending all day perfecting a recipe you found online, chasing down Jess, and making her eat some of it.

“Just a little less salt next time,” she says, leaning back against the wall, her eyes on you.

You shake your head, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

The evening is settling in, the warm glow of the sun seeping away, giving way to the chilly breeze. You shudder, goosebumps littering your bare arms, and consider moving to the bed, or maybe wrapping yourself in a blanket. You eye it warily - it's thin, its color washed away and even from here you can see some of the stains.

You jump up when a weight settles over your shoulders, a familiar scent of leather enveloping you. When you turn to look at Jess, instead of looking away like you thought she would, she looks at you, head-on.

“Thanks,” you whisper, pushing your arms through the sleeves. “You're not cold?”

She shakes her head no, pushing her food around. “Looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” You look down at your lap, fingers fidgeting. The air grows heavy.

She reaches inside her bag and takes out another flask.

“I'm no good for you, you know?” she says after gulping at least a quarter of it.

You look up, startled.

“I'm an asshole with a drinking problem. You deserve better.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “You’re not an asshole.”

She snorts, and finishes the flask in quick gulps before carelessly throwing it to the floor.

“Jess.”

She hums.

“You're not an asshole.”

“I heard you the first time.”

You huff, and pull the take out box out of her hands before gently setting both of your food on the nearby table. “Jessica,” you start, squaring your shoulders. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.” She rolls her eyes, but turns to face you nonetheless. You can tell she's ready to bolt or at least deflect, but you won't let her. Not this time, the conversation is long overdue.

You take her hand in yours, fiddling with her slender fingers. “You’re one of the best people I've ever met, Jess-” the scoff that follows is expected “-yes, you are!” You insist, giving her hand a sharp tug. “You're brave, and selfless, and kind-”

“I’m an unreliable, unstable alcoholic with a fucked up head,” she growls, jumping off her seat. “I'm not kind or brave. I don't do nice things. I'm not nice, period. I have a hole in my wall and more empty bottles than cutlery. I haven't washed my jeans in two months. I- fuck, sometimes I can't even look at you without thinking about you leaving, eventually.” She starts pacing, fingers lost in her dark tresses.

“Jess.”

“I can't take care of myself, Trish does that half the time. I have one bedsheet. I don't have a vacuum cleaner. My door is permanently broken.”

“Jessica.”

“I'm a fucked up-”

“Shut up.”

She stops mid rant, looking at you with tired eyes, and let's out a long-suffering sigh. “You deserve better.”

You shake your head and take a step towards her. “I love you.”

She recoils, suddenly looking like a frightened child. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “What?” She croaks.

“I love you, Jess. I love you when you're drunk and miserable, and I love you when sober up and smile like you don't have a care in the world. I love you when you're out of reach for days on a case, and I love you when you make sure to spend time with me, even if it means sacrificing sleep-”

“Stop.”

“-I love you when you don't have time to take my calls, and I love you when you answer me from strangers’ balconies. I love you when you're being mean, and I love you when you choose to be the kindest person I know, even after all of the shit you've been through.”

“Y/n…”

“I love you and your broken door. And I love your cutlery.”

“Don't-”

“And I have a vacuum cleaner.”

She sighs, but her eyes soften just a slightest bit. "A vacuum cleaner, huh?"

You swallow and take a deep breath. “I- I don't want anyone else, Jess. I want you. I love you.”

She looks at you for a long moment, her jaw tenses, brows furrow in thought. “Okay,” she nods slowly, begrudgingly.

“Yeah?” You whisper, inching closer.

“Yeah,” she breathes against your lips, before pulling you in a tender, almost chaste kiss. She's pulling away a second later and it's over before you even fully register the feeling of her soft, full lips on yours. “I- You- Fuck, why is this shit so goddamn hard?” She grumbles, closing her eyes briefly before taking a deep breath. “You deserve better, so-”

“Jessica,” you growl, pushing her by the shoulders. She doesn't budge, pressing you closer to her chest, her grip on your waist tightening.

“You deserve better, so I'll get better. I'll do better. For you,” she finishes slowly, begrudgingly, and for a moment you're speechless. “Less booze should be a good start, right? No girl likes to smell alcohol all the time,” she sounds like she's complaining, like this is the worst situation she could ever find herself in, but her eyes shine in a way you've never seen before. It's hope, you realise after a moment.

“Not for me, for you,” you state firmly, cupping her jaw. “You'll get better for you.”

She blinks. “That’s not a good enough motivation,” she grumbles.

You press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, fighting back a smile. She's so Jess. “We'll work on that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. I... I love you too, I guess.”

"Mhm," you hum, and she opens her mouth again, so you pull her in a proper kiss before she can say anything else.

[defenderassemble]

SHUT THE FUCK UPPPPPP WE'VE NEVER BEEN MORE BACK HOLY SHIT

[chvoswxtch]

JESSICA JONES IS COMING BACK MY BABY HAS RETURNED

can I just say how much it warms my heart how many of you reached out to me when you heard the news like y’all really know me 🥹💜

[clea-dessendre]

using the "it's my birthday 🥺" excuse to get out of as many of my responsibilities as possible today

[gloriouslokius]

i don't actually think about glee that often anymore. and i realized that i haven't watched a single glee episode since like 2016, maybe 2017. that's kinda wild considering how that show absolutely consumed every moment of my life for years. maybe i should finally give it a rewatch. though i may not be as big of a fan anymore, some of my closest and best friend are because of glee. i've been friends with some of y'all for more than 10 years!

[asexualbuthorny]

congrats guys i just solved a shipping issue

you no longer need to debate who to ship mu qing and feng xin with because, in fact, im dating mu qing it's cannon. how do i know? mind your fucking business and don't worry about it.

and @violetgarlends is dating feng xin it's also cannon and you also shouldn't worry about it

[rvspecter]

harvey has chemistry with every

single

one

of

his

antagonists

[the-gom-jabbar]

Reverend Mother Mohaim: *after popping into Paul's bedroom at 4am* This kid can't be the kwisatz haderach, he's skinny as fuck

Paul, who literally just woke up:

[garrothromeave]

ok LET it be an insane rambling. but gang people who give early-mid s1 garroth with a blue cape instead of red. guys guys listen. the red is significant. because its an okhasis uniform and we see that their uniforms have red on them (at least in s1 idr s2 lol) and garroths still under his lil ol helmet and hes still tied to his past and that red. it binds him. hes still under the thumb of okhasis. hes still influenced by them no matter how much he tries to separate himself. and just as garroth is SEPERATING from them and growing as a person and finding HIS place in this world and is getting confident in where hes supposed to be he finally gets his new gear dawning his pretty pretty blue cape. no more red! and what else? helmet off. hes ready to embrace HIM. blue is him ok. red is okhasis (ignore dante and sks in this very specific context) ITS FOR GARROTH SPECIFICALLY. this is important i swear guys trust m